My ignorance, unveiled

October 28, 2008, 10:49 IST

I’m walking back from a session with my Hindi tutor and I must look particularly out of place today. A third rikshaw driver honks his whiny horn and veers toward me, offering his services as if I can’t see him, as if a tall, blond kid walking down the street in Pune must be looking for a cab. An elderly man hobbling along in the other direction stares at me as if my hair is on fire. Two teenage kids lean out of a bus as it sputters by and yell at me in Marathi, amused by something I can’t understand. A ragged, barefoot woman with a sickly infant appears out of nowhere, tugging on my sleeve, grabbing my hand, begging.

My impatience bubbles to the surface; I just want to be left alone. If just one of those encounters had pushed me a bit further, I might have justified the stereotype that Americans are rude and self-entitled, which would have only made matters worse.

As I walk, I keep thinking. What if I contended with such nuisances every day of my life? And what if they weren’t always so paltry? I wonder, would I learn to shrug them off? Grow a thick skin?

It dawns on me – in my life I’ve just skimmed the surface of understanding the concept of prejudice, of being treated differently because of how you look. Suddenly the concept takes on a new, more personal meaning.

Inane bureaucracy

October 23, 2008, 10:54 PM IST

Our lawyers notified us today that law prohibits us from incorporating under the name “Teach For India” because it has India in the name. Apparently only governmental organizations can use this noun, our using it would imply that we are trying to take on governmental responsibilities. In essence, we are.

Ironically, we can still use the Teach For India brand name, as long as we conduct all official legal business under a different title.

Complaining in cyberspace

October 12, 2008, 11:19 PM IST

Life here has been challenging. The incessant roadblocks to progress are frustrating. The organizational politics are stressful. The unending stream of next steps (that were supposed to happen yesterday) is exhausting. And the paid-guest living arrangement I have is an aggravating constraint on my independence.

Don’t misunderstand me – the place and the work suit me well. But I’m accustomed to feeling la joie de vivre darn near all the time, and frankly things have not been going this way of late. I began to demonstrate an abnormal proclivity to complain to everyone and to no one in particular via Google instant messenger.

A minor spat with a co-worker on Thursday got me thinking. Life has been coming at me a little too fast for my comfort and I needed to step back, get some perspective. So I grabbed my backpack and headed on foot to Pune Central to pick up some groceries.

As I was perusing the aisles, singing along with the Billy Joel song playing (Indian mall music is stuck squarely in the 80s and 90s), my spirits began to lift. It occurred to me that such a simple solitary act, grocery shopping and singing a song I knew, was exactly what I had been missing. I had accepted the professional and social status quo of the team and let myself become overly reliant on others. Although this may have made sense initially, I was increasingly missing my usual sense of self.

On Friday I dove headlong into me things. It was a major success – I found a yoga instructor, who I’m meeting early on Monday before my Hindi lesson. I celebrated this with a small solo dance party. Between Saturday and Sunday I spent hours walking around Pune, expanding my mental map tenfold. I toured the famous and mysterious Osho Ashram. I did some shopping, picking up my first yoga mat, a couple simple kurtas (traditional Indian men’s wear), and a two albums of South Asian rhythms. (It took some time to persuade the owner that I genuinely wanted her to tell me her favorites.) I exercised (twice!). I stayed in at night and read. It was a huge step in the right direction.

So here’s to the first day of the rest of my India.

Be bold

October 8, 2008, 8:40 PM IST

We’re at a recruitment event at S.P. Jain, a top management institute in Mumbai, with about one hundred final-year grad students in attendance – all prime candidates to become Teach for India Fellows.

Shaheen’s presentation explains how the tangible benefits of a TFI Fellowship – increased likelihood of securing posts with top MNCs and grad schools – and the intangible benefits – development of transferrable leadership skills – are directly related to one another. “Corporates are telling us they want our Fellows,” she declares.

One student objects: “I don’t think most Indian students will be willing to take such a risk.”

Shaheen rebuts: “Like I said, this program isn’t for everyone. This year we’re selecting just one hundred of India’s most outstanding graduates. We want only the best, because a problem of this magnitude – providing educational opportunities to all of India’s children – requires the best to solve it.”

Shaheen’s reply is compelling but this student’s concern is real. Like most social enterprises, Teach for India faces many obstacles.

First, in India to choose teaching after university is to throw away your career in one fell swoop. Here, where achieving economic stability is paramount, the norm is to find the best corporate position possible. India’s top graduates view teaching as something mundane, simplistic and alien.

Second, Indian college graduates are far less independent than their American counterparts. As late as age 30, they may defer to their parents, who play a major role in the decision-making process. This means that even if we can capture the passion and idealism of India’s best graduates, they still have to contend with objections – or outright rejection – from their parents, who often espouse more traditional viewpoints about teaching.

These obstacles mean we have an uphill battle. However, they also mean that Teach for India has the potential not only to change education in India, but also to start a revolution in the way people think about social responsibility.

“Be bold,” Shaheen implores her audience.

Be the change

Post-dated: October 5, 2008, 1:48 PM IST

“If you can see the problem, then your mind works. If you can see the opportunity, then your heart works.” – Jayeshbhai Patel, founder of Manav Sadhna¹

In honor of Gandhi ji’s 138th birthday on October 2, I write this blog with one objective: I want you to care.

Yesterday I met an eight-year-old, Sanjay, in a Bandra slum. He told me he wants to be an engineer when he grows up. I sat down on a dilapidated bench with some paper and crayons and was quickly surrounded by a half-dozen other kids. I wrote my name in big block letters on the top of the page and then passed the sheet around. One girl, Sunita, jumped at the opportunity to show off her beautiful handwriting, and a few others quickly grabbed at the paper. Two girls shied away, embarrassed.

In India²:
- 1 in 7 children never enter primary school.
- 1 in 5 school children is completely innumerate and 1 in 8 class eight students cannot do basic arithmetic
- 1 in 8 secondary school children is illiterate, unable to read a level 1 paragraph

When we look at figures like these it’s easy to think the problem is so big that you or I simply can’t make a difference. But to Sanjay and Sunita and these two illiterate girls, one teacher could make a lifetime of difference.

Development economics research is largely inconclusive, but there is one consistent finding: Education – empowering an individual with knowledge and the ability to act in his or her own best interest – is at the core of the solution to virtually every global issue, including health and violence.

[1] Manav Sadhna is an NGO providing health and hygiene, education, and employment services to India’s underprivileged since 1990. Click here for an inspiring film about Jayesh Bhai and his work.
[2] Statistics from the World Bank website and the Aser Report, 2005.

The indispensable rupee

Post dated: October 4, 2008, 7:44 PM IST

Today I got a phenomenal haircut for 40 rupees (that's about USD 90 cents) which concluded with a scalp massage. This is a good example of the awesome stuff you can buy for really low prices in India.

Example two was my lunch on Wednesday. I bought two hot, fresh vada pao (fried spicy mashed potato patty sandwiches) from a street vendor for 5 rupees each. Consuming street food is ill-advised for your health, but I'd made it 3 full weeks without getting sick (read: diarrhea) and I was starving. You can get a really high quality Indian meal for 50-120 rupees so it's not really necessary to indulge in the 10 rupee variety. You can't beat a bargain though. I didn't get sick so I bought street food from another vendor the next day, at which point I realized I was being a total moron. I have put this behavior on hold for the time being.

More so than haircuts and street food, or virtually anything except water, I am a consumer of cab rides. This means I'm constantly haggling with drivers who are optimistic about my ignorance. Negotiating an auto-rickshaw driver down from 80 rupees to 40 last night (my starting point was 30) was a very gratifying victory.

The Song of India

Post-dated: October 1, 2008, 11:14 AM IST

I was perusing ProFlowers.com this morning in search of a plant. Selecting a plant online is a bit of a crapshoot, so when I came across a modest but pretty orchid-looking thing called “The Song of India,” I decided it was a sign.

Then I got to thinking: What is India’s song? I thought back on my encounters of the past three weeks.

Hotel lobby music. I spent several nights at a classy lodging called Hotel Fariyas. After finding that the internet signal only worked in the lobby, I was privy to several consecutive hours of a 90-second jingle that can only be described as maddening. After I relocated to the Gordon House for a brief stint, things went from bad to worse. They had opted for a remixed, electronic version of the Aladdin soundtrack.

Elevator music. I have discovered that the Law of Elevator Music extends across international borders. Having spent a great deal of time coming and going from team meetings at Surjeet’s 17th story Bombay apartment, I can tell you that Kenny G is indeed a great musician when compared to the cohort of elevator music composers.

Street sounds. I’m convinced that Bombay drivers are connected to their horns by nerve pathways; no sooner has the notion of the honk been conceived in the driver’s mind than the horn is blown. And what constitutes an occasion worthy of a honk? A local cab driver wouldn’t understand this question. What occasion isn’t?

Bollywood music. My exposure to Bollywood movies has been limited by the scarcity of good new flicks lately. However, the radio stations are always abuzz with Bollywood classics, new and old. Bollywood movies are a bit like musicals, full of song and dance, so I suppose the American analog to Bollywood music would be showtunes, the difference being that in India, Bollywood music is by far the most popular genre.

Indian idol. Last Saturday evening I ventured into the unknown – Indian TV – and was rewarded with Indian Idol, an exact adaptation of the American version down to the personalities of the judges, save of course for the music, which is all Indian. Is it too late for me to jump on the bandwagon?

The sound of home. On Thursday night I went to watch a co-worker's son's cover band play. There's little that can beat a bunch of Indian kids covering American grunge music. Her son had Kurt Cobain totally nailed.

It seems that the Song of India, mirroring the diversity of the country itself, is an incredibly eclectic mix.